


recovery

by akire_yta



Series: CSI Discworld [2]
Category: CSI: Crime Scene Investigation, Discworld - Terry Pratchett
Genre: M/M, crackfic, from the archives
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-23
Updated: 2013-08-23
Packaged: 2017-12-24 11:07:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,473
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/939265
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/akire_yta/pseuds/akire_yta
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nick's been kidnapped and Greg's lost his thingy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	recovery

**Author's Note:**

> Cheers to [](http://cedara.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://cedara.livejournal.com/)**cedara** for giving it the once over. All other errors are mine, all mine!

~#~

“They’ve got Nicky.” 

The world closed in on Greg. He felt his stomach drop, churning acidic all the way down. His hands bunched into fists, his nails biting hard into the palms of his hands. Around his head, the quietly delivered statement bounced and ricocheted. “They’ve got Nicky. They’ve got Nicky. They’ve got Nicky.” His frustration and fear boiled over and he turned and hit the wall hard enough to make his fingers ache.

He had no idea how long he stood there, struggling to get himself back under control. But finally, as feeling began to return to his fingertips, he realized that there was silence where there should have been noise. Sighing, he let himself sink back into the time stream. “What happened,” he asked?

Brass jumped slightly. “Kid. Didn’t see you there.” He looked over at Grissom before continuing his story. “Browning’s at the hospital talking to the uniform now, but he didn’t see much. Apparently they went into the house, Nick got down to collect some evidence, then bam – lights out. Concussion.” He frowned. “He was hit on the back of the head hard enough to knock him out for several minutes. When he came to...” 

“Nick was gone,” Cath finished flatly. She turned to Grissom. “I’ll take Warrick, see if our kidnapper left some evidence at the scene.”

Greg stepped forward hurriedly. “I’ll help too.”

They had wondered if anyone at the lab knew about them. From the look Grissom gave him, it was clear he at least suspected. “No Greg, you stay here.” He turned and walked off, snapping orders to the other CSIs.

Brass patted him awkwardly on the shoulder. “It’s okay. We’ll find him.” Then he too walked away.

Greg stood alone in the hall, staring at the glass partition. His hands curled slightly. “FUCK IT.”

A sliced second later, the corridor was empty but for a dint in the wall.

~#~

Greg wove through the frozen crowds of the strip, the garish neon lights eerily muted as he sliced time ever thinner. For the first time in a very long time, he wished he were back on the Discworld. The Disc was closer to the edge of reality, it was easier to slice the slice and TALK THE TALK and find people there. Here, on the Roundworld, it felt like he was slicing treacle, and finding people was hard for all the noise.

But he knew Nick like he knew himself. He could feel him, now that he was concentrating. All he had to do was follow that glowing thread back towards the source. But down the thread he could feel vibrations. Nick was scared. Nick was hurting. If he should meet any of the people who made Nick that way, he might be inclined to…prod buttock.

He slowed slightly as he felt Nick’s thread rise off the ground, then strode towards the grand entrance to the hotel. Even in sliced time, the doors opened for him. They didn’t dare not to. 

But the next door stopped him. Despite all the occasions he had sliced time or stepped out of it entirely, he had never encountered this issue before.

He tilted his head, thought for a moment, then let himself sink back into real time. As the sounds of the busy hotel lobby faded back in, he leaned over and pressed the elevator call button. The time that it took for the car to open for him doubled the period that had elapsed since he had left the lab, and he scrambled into the car, feeling edgy and impatient.

Nick was so close he felt as if he could just reach out and touch him. Tenth. Twelfth. Fifteenth. On the seventeenth floor, Greg felt himself draw level with Nick. He didn’t even bother to punch the emergency stop button. He just took a deep breath and stepped straight through the elevator doors as they passed the right corridor.

As soon as his feet touched carpet, he was out of time again, moving down the corridor like a force of nature. He could almost see the thread of Nick’s life now, and he followed it without pausing straight through the door at the end of the corridor. 

There was one man, on the couch, a fried chicken leg frozen halfway to his mouth. Greg paused, thinking. He then very carefully and deliberately picked up the large and gaudy lamp in the entry and gently positioned it above his head. It sat on empty air a foot above his skull. Greg admired his handiwork for a relative second, then turned and walked through the closed bedroom door.

Nick was on the bed, wrist tethered to the bedhead by police issue cuffs. Probably Brownings. He slid his index finger into the small gap between cuff and bedhead and tugged. The cuff unlocked itself instantly.

Greg turned his attentions to the man on the bed. There were dried flecks of red on his top lip, and his eye socket was already darkening into an impressive shiner. But he was alive and whole. Finally releasing the sob he had been holding in since the lab, he collapsed onto the bed and hugged Nick fiercely. 

They slid back into the flow of time smoothly, the sounds of the city below washing gently into the room. Out in the main room Greg heard a wet thump then a crash. In his arms, Nick started as he woke. “Greg?”

Greg pressed a finger to his lips. “Shhh. Are you okay? Can you walk?”

Nick nodded, wincing slightly in pain.

“Come on.” He ran his hand down Nick’s arm and took his hand, helping him off the bed. 

Nick paused for a second to regain his balance. He looked up and blanched. “Greg?”

Following his line of sight, Greg saw three shapeless robes forming in the air between them and the door. “Oh shit,” he cursed.

One said, You are not Death here.

One said, You are not Time here.

One said, You are mostly human here. Mostly is aberrant. Things must be one or the other. 

As smoothly as they had arrived, the Auditors sublimed back into the fabric of the universe. “Hey,” Greg whispered harshly as he tried to walk after them. All he succeeded in doing was giving himself a blood nose. “Fuck!” He stopped, and tried again. “Fuck.” But the harder he tried, the further away he felt himself slipping.

“Greg?”

“The bastards,” he breathed softly as if Nick hadn’t spoken. “They even took my fucking Voice!”

Nick was leaning heavily against the frame of the bed. “Who took what?”

“Auditors.” He waved at the now empty air. Forestalling Nick’s next question with his hand, he tried. Sound continued in mockery. Switching tactics, he tried to slice. The familiar blur taunted him by its absence. “Fuck!”

“Greggo? What’s going on?”

Greg took several deep breaths. “Well,” he said slowly. “We’re on the seventeenth floor of a hotel. No one knows where either of us are. And the Auditors have just made me completely and utterly human.”

Nick stared at him. “You mean you can’t…” he waved his hand through the air.

“No.”

Nick thought about this for a second. “Yes. You’re right. We’re fucked.”

~#~

In the great house of Death, the clock struck Too Late. Death paused as the chimes faded. His bone-smooth skull tilted, as if listening to something that could only be heard between the ticks of the unique clock.

Albert put the mug of chamomile tea down onto the desk. “Master?” There was no response. “Master!”

This time he got a reaction. The infinite blue glow of Death’s eye sockets flared. “HOW DARE THEY.”

Albert stepped back hurriedly as Death rose from his chair like a force of nature. [1] “Who dares what? Master? What is it?”

Death’s cowl billowed as he stalked towards the door. “THE AUDITORS. THEY HAVE GONE TOO FAR.”

Albert trotted through the house and out to the stables after him, thoroughly confused. “Master? Why? What is it?” Death silently swung himself astride Binky. There was a snap like a soul breaking. The blade of his scythe glowed in the perpetual twilight. “Master!” 

Death stared down at him, coldly imposing. “IT’S A FAMILY MATTER.” 

The pale horse of Death surged into the night.

“Family! Hmph!” Albert shook his head and limped back into the house. 

[1] Which, technically speaking, he was. 

~##~

Nick and Greg sat side by side on what felt like a packing crate. Greg knew he should be looking around, trying to note details, perhaps help figure out their escape. But his head was throbbing violently, waves of pain radiating out from where they had cracked him across the skull.

The irony of the fact that they had used the remains of the lamp to render him unconscious had not escaped him.

His hands were tied tightly behind him with what felt like nylon rope, and he was slowly loosing feeling in his fingertips. Another length of rope snaked down to fetter his ankles. He had been tied up before, but only for fun, and always knowing that he would be released at a word. That had been a game.

This was terrifying.

He leaned sideways and bumped his shoulder gently against Nick’s, and was rewarded with a bleary half-smile.

“You okay?”

Greg shrugged. “Sore. And feeling pretty stupid.”

They both started as a bang echoed around the nearly empty warehouse before fading again into silence.

“Tell me about those things. The Auditors.”

Greg knew Nick was trying to distract them from their situation, but he answered anyway, playing along. “Auditors of reality. They’re...they’re nothingness. Frozen perfection. Mother hates them. The only time I’ve ever seen her get truly worked up was because of Auditors.”

“But why are they called Auditors?”

“That’s just our name for them.” Greg laugh was little more than a huff of air in the dark. “They’re trying to count the universe, reduce it down to numbers, everything filed and stamped and organized. But us – all life, really – keeps screwing up their filing.”

“Why don’t they just get rid of us then, if we’re such a pest?”

Greg suddenly found himself wishing they hadn’t started on this topic. “They’re a part of the universe. So they have to obey the Rules, just like everything else. They can’t directly interfere, but they can encourage and suggest.”

Nick shifted, tugging at his bonds. “Sorry, Greggo, but that looked like pretty direct interference to me. They took away your thingy!”

Despite himself, Greg laughed. His thingy. It was always ‘thingy.’ His laugh died slowly. It wasn’t his thingy anymore. He was finally what he always wanted to be. Completely human. Totally normal. Utterly mundane.

It was horrifying. He felt deaf, dumb and blind, out of control and powerless. Did they all feel like this, all the time?

Greg shifted again, tilting his head until his temple touched the back of Nick’s shoulder. Exhaling, he pressed a small kiss against the fabric of his shirt. “Love you, Nicky.”

“Hey, hey, none of that. Gris and the others will find us. It’s gonna be alright, Greggo, you’ll see.”

Greg nodded slightly, never breaking contact with Nick. “I know. But it’s worth repeating.”

~#~

Brass strode quickly over to where the man in the CSI vest was waiting. “Bellhop called it in. The guys in Room 1756 called down, said they were moving equipment and needed to use the service elevator. Kid went down to see if they needed a hand, saw them moving two people. He thinks they were unconscious.”

Grissom frowned as he hit the call button on the elevator. “Two people.”

Brass nodded as he stepped into the car. “Kid got a good look, gave me a description. The first sounded like Nicky.”

“And the second?”

Brass didn’t need to look at his notes. “Small, slim male, bleached blonde spiked hair, wearing a black button down shirt.”

The elevator doors opened on Grissom’s stunned expression. Reaching for his phone as they walked quickly down the carpeted corridor, he thumbed through the list of numbers until he found the one he wanted. 

The ringing in the tiny earpiece was matched by a louder ring coming from beyond the crime scene tape. The two men exchanged another incredulous look.

Grissom moved forward, snapping on his gloves as he sought out the source of the noise.

“What I don’t understand,” Brass said as Grissom found the phone next to the disheveled bed. “Is how the hell the kid got here so fast. Did they snatch him from outside the lab?” Brass growled softly under his breath. “If they did, they’ve got balls.”

“But why take him up here only to take him back down again with Nick?” Grissom straightened slowly, studying the phone through the clear plastic of the evidence bag. “Perhaps they called him, had him come to them.”

Brass was shaking his head. “Firstly, why call Sanders out of all of you. He’s not even directly involved in the case. Secondly, even if they did, he’d know better than to take off alone…” he trailed off as he studied his colleague’s face. “What do you know that I don’t?” Glancing over his shoulder at the uniform on the door, he took half a step closer. “Why did you pull Greg off this case?”

Grissom kept his face perfectly neutral. “It’s hard to remain objective when dealing with those we have emotional ties to.”

“Emotional ties?” Understanding dawned, and his eyes widened. “Nick and Saunders? Please tell me you’re kidding.”

Grissom was looking over the scene with a professional’s eye. “We can’t rule out that this is a hate crime, not tied to any cases they may be working.”

Brass exhaled heavily. “Right. Okay. But after we find them, you and I are going to be having a little talk.”

Grissom’s expression was inscrutable. “Of course. After.”

~#~

The slap of hand hitting skin seemed too-loud in his ears. As the ringing died away, he could hear Nick’s raised voice. Yet somehow, he couldn’t quite focus on what his lover was saying.

Instead, he ran his tongue along the inside of his lip, wincing at the salty metallic taste of his own blood.

There was another noise penetrating the fog that seemed to have enveloped him.

“…you find us?”

Greg blinked, feeling muzzy. “Wha?”

His captor raised his hand. “I said, you idiot, how the fuck did you find us?”

“Followed the string,” he replied without really thinking.

That earnt him another ringing slap. Nick’s shout cut through the haze, and Greg grimaced and spat to clear his bloody mouth as his interrogator stormed away.

“You okay?” Nick asked in a low voice once he was sure they were alone again.

Greg nodded slightly, not entirely certain his head was going to stay attached to his neck. “Dandy,” he muttered. “Where’s that cavalry you mentioned?”

A shriek of terror cut through the air like a knife.

“What the hell?” Nick leaned forward precariously, straining at his bonds, trying to look through the gloom to find out what was going on.

He jerked backwards hard enough to jolt the crate as the shadows parted to reveal a glorious white horse.

Greg smiled, not even noticing his lips crack and start to bleed again. “Binky?”

The horse snickered in response, then tossed his mane as another figure emerged.

Beside Greg on the crate, Nick sighed softly as his eyes rolled up in his skull and he flopped gently backwards.

Greg sighed. “Don’t mind him. Hello, Grandfather. Am I glad to see you.”

Death drew a blade of light from the scabbard strapped to Binky’s saddle. “LIKEWISE.” A flicker, a whine of air sliced, and Greg’s bonds fell away. He stood slowly, rubbing the circulation back into his hands, as Death freed Nick.

“Not that I’m ungrateful for the rescue, but should you be interfering this much?”

“THEY HAVE GONE TOO FAR.”

Greg slipped past the skeleton as it moved to resheathe its sword. “The Auditors? So you know what they did to me? No argument there.” As he spoke, he gently began straightening Nick’s crooked limbs.

“YES.” The blue glow flickered in Death’s eye sockets. “THEY WILL BE HELD TO ACCOUNT.”

Greg grinned. “Account? I bet they’re gonna love that.” He rubbed Nick’s shoulder soothingly as the other man groaned and began to stir. “But in the meantime, I think our priority should be getting out of here.”

Death nodded. “BINKY WILL TAKE YOU WHERE YOU NEED TO GO. RELEASE HIM WHEN YOU ARE DONE. I SHALL NEED HIM.”

“And you? What will you be doing?”

Death’s grin seemed more pronounced than usual. “FORECLOSING.” He turned sharply on heel and stalked away.

Greg helped Nick sit up. “You okay?”

“What happened?”

Greg chivied him to his feet. “The human brain can only cope with so much input at once. I’ll explain it to you later. Right now we need to ride.”

“Ride?”

Greg grinned. “Nick, meet Binky. Binky, Nick.” He patted Binky’s nose lovingly. “Now, cowboy. Let’s see you in the saddle.”

~#~

“Grissom!”

The man turned, stepping away from the door as Brass strode over to him. Despite the late hour, the front concourse was a hive of activity, and everyone who passed him by gave him a sidelong look. Despite their best efforts, the news of the disappearance of two of their own could not have been kept secret for long. “Dead end on the car. I’ve sent a description to patrol, they might get a hit, but it’s a long shot…what?”

The other man was frowning out into the floodlit carpark.

Brass looked around, but could see nothing out of the ordinary. “What? Seriously, you’re freaking me out here?”

He shook his head, as if trying to dislodge something. “I just swore for a second I heard hoof beats.”

Brass favoured him with an incredulous look. “Hoof beats? Here? Not cracking up on me, are you…what?”

But Grissom was already moving down the stairs and out onto the path that ringed the Crimelab. “Nick? Greg?”

Greg raised a jaunty hand as Nick responded. “It’s us.”

“I can see that. What happened, where have you been?” Brass and Grissom moved to book-end the ragged pair. Brass winced as he took in Stokes’ black eye, the bloody smears on Sanders’ chin.

“Not sure. Our hosts seemed to enjoy knocking people on the head as a way of saying hello.” Despite himself, Brass grinned at the kids’ reply.

“How did you get away?”

Again, it was Greg who answered. Brass felt himself begin to frown at Nick’s stoic silence. Something was a little off here. “We managed to untie ourselves, slipped out when they weren’t looking, hitched a ride to get some distance, made it back here.” Greg’s hands fluttered as if to say ‘and here we are.’

Brass looked over, caught Grissom’s eye, nodded. “Let’s get you inside and get a doctor to look you both over.”

From his position in the dark high above the chain link fence, Binky watched his charges go inside before turning on air and galloping off into the night.

~#~

“Grissom is going to keep on asking questions until he finds an answer he’s satisfied with.”

Greg snorted and turned a page without looking up. “He’s a big boy. I’m sure he can learn to live with disappointment.”

Nick sighed and shifted, trying to find a position that didn’t jar any of his bruises. They had both been put on mandatory leave to recover as the other CSI’s followed the clues they had uncovered from the warehouse.

Grissom had refused to tell them more than that. Nick understood why, but he couldn’t shake the sense of unease he had about the way Grissom had questioned them about their ordeal.

Giving up on getting settled, Nick rose and walked into the kitchen. He opened the fridge door and examined the contents without much enthusiasm. “Want anything, G?”

Silence.

“Greg?” His skin prickled as a chill passed over his exposed arms. Pushing the door closed hard enough to rattle the contents, he hurried back into the living room.

Greg was sitting there, magazine puddled in his lap, staring blankly into space. “Greg?” Nick perched himself on the edge of the couch and waved his hands in front of Greg’s face.

With a sharp gasp, Greg started and blinked. “Woah?”

“What was that? Are you okay? Do you need a doctor?” Nick trailed off as he watched a wide, wicked grin spread across Greg’s face.

“Yes! Thankyou Grandfather!” Greg flashed two thumbs up at the ceiling.

“Greg?”

Greg turned that wicked grin onto Nick. “Auditors don’t have _nothing_ on us!” He waved his hands at the bottle of water on the coffee table. Frost condensed onto the plastic. “I’m back, baby!”

 

~~~~~


End file.
